Safe Haven
by El Barto 227
Summary: One year after the outbreak, a large group of survivors intend to retake a town from the Infected horde. A Hunter, the first, sanest and most intelligent of his kind, finds he is surrounded. Injured, and his home being taken from him, he must find a safe way out of River City if he wants to live.
1. Outbreak (Prologue)

**A/N: **This is my first proper attempt at a multi-chapter fan-fiction, although I have written shorter pieces before. Feedback and constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated, both the good and the bad. So, without further ado, here it is:

A large CEDA Laboratory. One week after first infection.

A nervous young laboratory technician stood before the shift's supervisor. The lad had short brown hair, green eyes and a thin mouth that always seemed slightly downturned, as if he was constantly annoyed at something.

"Mr. Collins, we have a problem,"

"What is it now, Jenkins? I hope you haven't spilt another sample. This is-"

"No! We were testing the effects of our vaccine on an Infected last night. Upon checking on him today… it was horrid. He was hugely bloated, and when he saw us, vomited all over Tom, Matt and Brooke. We've got them in the sick room, but they're showing the symptoms… I think they're about to turn!" The young man was panicking, and his superior put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. "Listen, son, accidents happen. This virus is like nothing we've ever seen before. Why, I-"

"You don't understand, sir. We performed genetic tests yesterday, and told the non-immune to stay home. Everyone here today should not be able to get infected,"

Maxwell Collins, a stern but kindly man in his early forties, his hairline already receding, dropped the pen he was writing with.

"Initiate a quarantine of this facility. Nobody leaves or enters. If this new strain of the Green Virus has mutated to infect previously immune hosts, we have to keep it contained,"

"Understood, sir,"

"And stop calling me sir, boy. My name is Maxwell,"

"Yes, s- Maxwell. I'll go inform the others,"

The previous night, a common infected had been used in a trial of a vaccine. This iteration was a quickly prepared one, merely to see its effects and whether it could have potential. However, the Green "Flu" had reacted severely, mutating into an even more unstable version. The host had appeared to calm for a while, but overnight the subject's bile production, amongst other things, ramped into overdrive. This became what would later be known as a Boomer.

So when the researchers, foolishly ignoring safety precautions, had opened the door of the room containing the bound Infected wearing only face masks to filter the pathogen, it vomited it's bile onto them. It was unable to move, but they had not expected it to vomit onto them.

This new form of the disease was capable of bypassing their natural immunity, and so they began to turn.

These researchers had been locked up in holding rooms to monitor their condition, while the rest of the staff were not allowed to leave, but had free roam of the facility.

Thomas Simmons, a soft-spoken and friendly man who smoked a pack a day, grew large cancerous lumps on his face and neck. His tongue elongated and became whiplike, and he began to produce a thick black smoke.

Brooke Harris mutated quite similarly to the Infected that attacked them. Her body began to produce large amounts of acidic, glowing goo, to the point where it overflowed out of her mouth in a steady dribble.

Matthew Deluna was the least visibly mutated. His senses grew keener; his fingertips grew sharp claws, his limbs and muscles mutated to become resistant to impacts and capable of pushing off the ground at a somewhat higher speed. The shape of his spine was changed, standing upright would be uncomfortable.

Over the course of the next two days, they were monitored. The mutated virus in their systems stabilized, no longer able to infect the immunes, but (theoretically, nobody was stupid enough to test it) still able to cause mutations in non-immune.

The three immune mutants had been physically changed, but their state of mind remained stable.

* * *

Unfortunately for the normals, the other mutants were not happy with captivity.

On day 3, the Spitter, Brooke, used her acid to melt through her bonds, and repeatedly spat at the door until it weakened sufficiently for her to break it down. She then freed me and the others.

I was reluctant to leave at first, knowing the facility was still under lockdown.

But it soon became clear to us that something had gone wrong. The walls were painted with blood, and corpses were scattered throughout the halls. Infected wandered around, screeching and occasionally bumping into a wall or tripping over a chair. But they looked at us intently, even made way for us as we walked.

To my horror, I realized that the Green "Flu" had become a pandemic.

And I was one of them.

For a year, the survivors gathered in small communities, barricaded themselves from the infected, grew their own food, and survived.

After wandering for a while, exploring, I found myself in a large town with the optimistic name of 'River City'. The Infected had overrun it quickly, so supplies of food for me to scavenge were plentiful. Leaping about the urban centre is still exhilarating to this day. Hunters, they call my kind. An apt name, I suppose.

But I've noticed normals have been congregating near River City, digging a trench of some sort. One or two groups of scavengers heading into the city, riling up the commons with their guns.

I don't know what they are up to, but I'll never be able to convince them I'm sane. To the normals, I'm just another rabid monster out to kill them.

Am I?


	2. Scavenger

**A/N:** Here it is, chapter 2. 2.27k words not including this A/N. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

As always, feedback is appreciated and if you have any questions, PM me and I'll be glad to answer 'em.

River City Analysis offices and laboratory. 12 months, 24 days after First Infection (FI).

To most, sleeping inside a lab might seem odd, but this place appeals to me for several reasons.

Firstly, it has a good location. The hospital is just down the street, along with several supermarkets, convenience stores and corner shops nearby. Easy access to canned food, medical supplies, batteries and toilet paper (the toilets don't work, but hygiene is still important and TPing a Tank is fun). Secondly, it's familiar. Not as in I've been here before, but I did work in one for several years before the end of society as we know it happened. And thirdly, there's a small petrol generator out the back.

As nice as this place is, it's lonely. The infected overran River City rather quickly. Small pockets of normals resisted, but not for long. A few long-abandoned safehouses are all that's left.  
Speaking of safehouses, I think I may have located another. My days are spent leaping around, searching for anything useful. I like to tell myself I'm being smart, preparing for if the Infected decide I'm not quite one of them. In reality, I'm bored. There's nothing for me to do here but wander aimlessly, and occasionally stock up on food.

This safehouse is located in the wealthier area of town. I would have taken a look yesterday, but a Tank was standing near it, almost as if it had been standing guard.  
I've stopped questioning mindless acts of randomness from the Infected.

I opened a window and climbed out, using my claws to latch onto the windowsill and propelled myself through to land in a crouching position on all fours.  
I sniffed the air. Nothing remarkable, except the faintest scent of a Spitter which had been making itself a nuisance for several weeks. Why would anyone vomit acid all over a perfectly good doormat?

I began to move down the street at a brisk pace. A few dopey commons wandered about, and I could hear a Smoker's hacking cough to my right, but the street was relatively quiet, and the cool morning air carried the scents of the city.  
The corpses caused by the aftermath of the Green Flu outbreak have long since rotted away, and so the stench of death is now uncommon.

The Infected are still human beings, alive and sick. The corpses of Infected that recently were killed by the virus can be found, if they have not been picked clean by their hungry brethren.  
It seems the infection slows non-essential body processes in commons, allowing them to continue living for longer without steady supplies of food. Over a year, the population has dropped, but is still at a formidable level.

I clambered onto the bonnet of a delivery truck, then went onto the roof and finally on top of it's large trailer. From there it was a simple leap to the roof of the building.  
The great thing about this area is that the roofs are mostly at the same level. Instead of zigzagging through the streets, I can make a beeline over the rooftops, leaping the gaps and running across flat spaces with minimal obstructions.

The wind rushing past as I soar across the streets, the freedom of being able to go anywhere, anytime! Before the outbreak parkour was just a hobby, but now I live for it.  
I'm stronger and faster than I was. I can land safely from a fall that should shatter my legs (although I wouldn't want to risk falling more than a few stories, which might indeed cripple me)

And so it did not take long for me to reach my destination. Thankfully, the Tank had wandered off overnight.

This safehouse seems to have been someone's garage. The doors were standard reinforced steel, closed and barred.  
Child's play.

These doors have large windows, with steel rods to allow shooting but not climbing through.  
It's not too hard to slip my arm in and grab the metal bar that prevents opening the door. There's a trick to it, but it takes only a few seconds to pull the bar that locks the door out of it's brace and toss it to the floor, then open the safehouse door normally.  
Yeah, top-notch security. Taking a sledgehammer to the drywall would be another way in that most people seem to overlook. This "safehouse" won't do any good against anything except maybe a few commons.  
Inside, a skeleton with a pistol lay on the floor. Dust covered everything and lethargically drifted through the air. The safehouse was dark, a lone bulb useless without electricity, and depressingly bare.

A table contained a large first aid kit, a shotgun and a box of shells. Because I knew zilch about guns other than 'point at bad guy, pull trigger', I ignored it. The pipe bomb next to it, on the other hand, might be useful for something. I clipped it to my belt.  
And lastly, several sealed boxes of tinned food were under the table. Bingo.  
I cut one of the boxes open with my claws, stashed a few cans of food into my small backpack and pried open some tinned peaches for breakfast.  
They didn't taste the way I remembered them. Most fruits and vegetables have tasted odd ever since I was infected, and meat better as a result. But I make sure to eat some anyway, if I can get my hands on any. Maybe I should grow tomatoes or something.

A fond memory surfaced. Bacon, eggs, tomatoes, hash browns and strong black coffee, a ritual I performed almost religiously every saturday morning.  
The thought of such a meal - an impossible luxury in my current situation - nearly had me salivating. I decided on an impulsive whim to open another precious tin of food (Spam!) and wolfed it down hungrily.  
At this rate, planting something edible might not be a bad idea.  
While I ate, I examined the faded grafitti on the walls. Apparently "Daryl da slaya" was here, and he had killed 18 'zombies'. The next guy said 'they ain't zombies, and I killed 23!'. "Bob, Emperor of River City" then killed 42 and a Witch. "9001" was scrawled underneath (I figured that number was exaggerated), then "I killed your mom!" and finally "My mom's right here, dumbass!"  
Humans are strange.

Getting bored, I made a mental note to return later to collect the rest of the supplies, and left the safehouse.  
As a landmark, I tied what used to be a blue shirt (I figured the skeleton wouldn't miss it) to a nearby wind vane.  
Having accomplished that I pondered where to go next for a few moments, then took a running leap towards a fire escape.

Another rooftop venture took me back to the laboratory to drop off the few tins that I had collected.  
As I climbed down from the roof of a nearby 7/11, I barely avoided landing in a puddle of sizzling green goo.  
That Spitter that usually hung around here must have caused it. I looked inside to see a saggy, half-corroded corpse on the floor.

I examined it from the edge of the puddle. It was male, thin dark hair, the very same Spitter that raided my food supply a few weeks back, then vomited acid all over it when I tried to take it back. Petty bastard. And now with a very nasty bullet hole between the eyes. Either a high-caliber bullet or a hollow point, I guessed. Who'd have thought Call of Duty would teach me something with a real-life application?!

Unfortunately, this means a normal is nearby. And normals have a habit of getting themselves killed here.  
I'd better try and chase them away. I crossed the street to the laboratory building, and entered through the now-broken glass font door. Gee, thanks, normal. Now the commons don't have an invisible barrier to confuse them until they give up.

I closed doors quietly behind me as I searched. I make it to my makeshift bedroom in one of the smaller lab rooms without incident, and gather some essentials.  
The building is split into two parts. The offices take about a fifth of the building, and I have little need for those. The much more controlled environment of the three laboratories (Pathology, water quality, and the third seems to be for another type of analysis I haven't identified) take up the rest, and a chemical storage shed is separate to the main building (for good reason).  
I rifle through the cupboards to see if I can find anything useful.  
Most of the chemicals have expired. A stock solution of 6M Sodium hydroxide (according to the label) had it's glass stopper fused to the neck of the glass bottle. I shake my head at the user's idiocy.  
Sodium hydroxide has several uses, and a lab like this would have used it to perform a procedure known as a titration (Simply, adding it bit by bit to a sample until something happens) or perhaps neutralizing waste acid.  
It reacts with glass. Nothing major, but if you want to store it in a glass bottle, use a rubber stopper if you plan to open it again.  
But unfortunately there was not very much that could still be put to some use, so I walked into the largest lab preceded by the sounds of glass shattering and Infected screeching.

And here's where my peaceful life was shattered.

As I walk in, I hear two loud gunshots and some cussing. Uh-oh.  
I unlatch a window, and push it open. Behind me a tall, muscular normal enters the room, slipping a clip into his pistol.  
"Marce, I got a freak in here! Say goodbye, motherf-"  
I scrambled to pull my self through the window. Claws dug into wood and the backpack caught on the windowframe for a moment and I was halfway out and-  
A searing pain in my leg made me scream out. I fell through and landed painfully on my front.  
I weakly scrabbled forward, not comprehending what was happening.  
I dragged myself to the chemical storage and hid behind it. When I determined I was safe, I took a look at my leg.  
The sight of the raw wound was sickening. A deep graze in the flesh of my calf. Rivulets of blood flowed from the wound, streaming down my leg and onto the overgrown grass.  
I need to think. My right leg is in some serious pain. Hospital down the road. Should find a way to stop leaking blood.  
The pain is sharp, which is distracting me, and I need to stop the bleeding. I could lower the blood flow and apply pressure, right?

I tear a strip of my shirt off, tie off a makeshift tourniquet above the wound and wad up the rest of the shirt and use it to apply pressure.

I take deep breaths. Focus, Matt (Is that my name?), focus. Breathe. Just calm down and then get to that hospital.  
I step up carefully. Bending down a bit so I can keep pressing the wound in, I hobble a couple hundred metres to the hospital parking lot. The glass doors are broken, and I nearly stumble over a brick that likely caused that. I don't know exactly where I'm going (but the ER seems like a good place to start), or what I'm actually looking for.  
It doesn't take me long to find medical supplies (it is, after all, a hospital).

I don't know exactly what to do, but I start with a cloth and iodine disinfectant. I brace myself and begin to clean the wound with the disinfectant.  
Iodine is great at this, but has a searing sting. This makes me scream out, but that means it's working, right?  
I'm not looking forward to this next part. I am not in any way qualified to do this kind of thing, but I think I need to stitch the wound, then bandage it.  
Luckily for me, the bullet nearly missed. It tore a deep gash in the flesh on the back of my calf. So there's one wound, not two bullet holes, that needs stitching.

With the needle and thread (or whatever they call it), I took a moment to calm myself. I was sweating, and my heart pounding. I tightened the strip of cloth on my leg to stop too much blood becoming a problem.

The first time, the needle was agony. I had to stop halfway, and stuck a wad of cloth in my mouth to prevent me from biting off apart of my tongue. I continued, knowing that this will only get worse if I don't treat it now. But the pain!  
It takes me nearly half an hour to get it finished. By the end of it I'm exhausted, both physically and mentally, but the stitches, while messy, seem to have worked. The last step I take is to apply more disinfectant, and bandage the wound. This, I know how to do. Some vague memory of an injured relative that needed my help with changing their bandages comes to mind, but I'm too busy to worry about the past.  
Once I'm satisfied I have done enough, I collapse onto the floor and am out within moments.


	3. Grounded

Hello, and welcome back to Safe Haven _*canned applause*. _We last left off with our hero collapsing (heroically) onto a hospital bed or something. I'm trying an experiment, beginning the chapters with a quick flashback as to what his life was like before the Infection. This one taking place during the later years of high school, introducing some of his friends briefly. Maybe one will make it into the story? Not sure.

Enjoy, and as always, feedback would be greatly appreciated. 2,211 words this time (not counting this A/N)

Ya'll have a good one now,

- El Barto 227

* * *

_Matt stands in a doorway, hands in the pockets of his green jacket and eyes downcast. Two older boys are blocking his way. Although there is no sound, their lips are moving and sneers tell that they are not exactly having a friendly chat. One of them shoves him back, but he doesn't react. He simply takes a step back to prevent himself from falling. After another shove, he tries to walk between them, but the bigger of the two casually trips him. They laugh, and begin to walk away as the younger boy lands spreadeagled on the floor. Matt slowly gets up and brushes himself off, then walks away, holding his bleeding nose._

_At the park, three teens are gathered. One wears a red hooded jacket, one blue and the third grey. Matt approaches them in his green jacket, nodding hello. The girl in the red jacket looks at his bruises and nose sympathetically. She opens her mouth to speak, but he shakes his head. He does not want to talk about it. She looks concerned, but doesn't pry. The other two greet him with smiles and high-fives, and he replies in kind._

_The four teens raise their hoods, and begin to run._

* * *

It takes me a while to drag myself back out of that dream and back to reality. I rub the sleep from my eyes and limp over to the exit. Outside, the sun's position tells me I've been out for several hours. Five, I would guess, maybe six.

Being careful not to put too much weight onto the injured leg, I take a look around for useful medical supplies. Painkillers and artificial adrenaline shots will be important until this injury heals.  
I'm pleased to find a bottle of pills that won't leave me high as a kite, antibiotics, a couple shots of adrenaline and even some morphine. _Better use that sparingly,_ I thought, an opiate addiction is not going to be easy to deal with.  
I take one of the pills and swallow it down with a mouthful of water.

Time to get going. I'm not sure if I should head back to the lab. After the attack, it no longer seems very hospitable.  
But the presence of two normals is intriguing. River City is long gone, and the amount of infected in urban areas should keep them away. So what are they doing here?

I tell myself to take a look for a new place to stay instead of worrying about a question I'll never answer.

Once I'm out the door, I crouch down and prepare to leap. I can feel the strength in my legs, yearning, screaming to be released.  
I oblige and launch myself towards the roof of a nearby ambulance.  
Any other time, this would have worked. I'd have grabbed on and clambered to the top.  
Instead, my leg flares in pain, as if someone was trying to tear a chunk of flesh off. I lose focus, collide face-first with the side of the vehicle and fall painfully to the concrete.  
After getting over the initial shock, I stand up carefully, rubbing my aching behind. No jumping. How am I supposed to get anything done without being able to jump?!  
I sigh and start to walk, being careful not to put weight on my injured limb.

Broken, battered and cast down from my rooftop habitat, I walk among the commons. They still make way for me, just like they did that fateful day I escaped captivity at the hands of my ex-colleagues.

They seem to know I'm different, and are too stupid to see any more than that. Stupid, starved and rabid.  
But they aren't giving me much room. They can sense I'm weakened.  
I'm pushing through the crowd of commons, many of which are watching me. I'm sweating, praying to some unknown deity that they don't attack, but I know any moment they will. Unless I can scare them off.  
Weak prey is an easy kill.  
I dig my clawed hands into the flesh of the nearest common, tearing and pulling as I eviscerate the useless creature. I scream at them, a typical Hunter challenge. This makes them back off a little.

Somewhere in the distance, a Screamer shrieks, likely trying to compete with my call. It begins to draw the commons to it's position, but I ignore them and continue. It doesn't take long for me to pass through the rest of the horde, and I am able to quicken my pace.

I don't know exactly where I am going, but the outskirts of town might be a nice place to walk and hopefully clear my head.

My head is a strange place. The nerdy, energetic lab tech is still in here, but I have most certainly changed. Violence no longer affects me. At first, the sight of my own blood made me uncomfortable. Now, I disembowl commons without batting an eye. Yay.  
I don't entirely understand my mutations. One important part of work in any laboratory is precise and detailed record-keeping. I had taken a look at the results of the tests performed on me during my 3-day captivity. My bodily fluids, with the exception of my blood, seem to be almost clean due to my immunity. Just regular Green Flu, no effect on immunes. Unfortunately the mutation-causing virus runs through my veins. No effect on me, but blood transfer to a non-immune or common? They'll be a Special in a few days.  
This is something I constantly question: What exactly am I?  
Infected or carrier? Just because I'm physically mutated, am I one of them? So far as I know, my mental capacity has been unaffected. Mostly... Ok, so I won't be playing with quantam physics any time soon, but at least I'm not trying to eat anybody's face.

I've arrived at my destination. The number of buildings here is lower, and they are smaller.  
That billboard over there would make a good vantage point. I rthymically climb the ladder, moving my hands and feet in harmony to ascend. At the top, I feel good. Up high, the open sky greeting me like an old friend.  
My moment is shattered when I spot an odd wall of sorts out in the open. I use my binoculars to take a closer look...

Oh, crap.

A fortified camp. They look like they plan to be here for a while. I scan the area and see normals with shovels digging a ditch of sorts.  
Wait. Not a ditch, a trench. A wide one, and by the looks of it even a Hunter might not be able to leap across. It's shallow enough for most Infected -even commons- to escape, but they seem to be working on that.  
The odd thing is that while it curves, it's not going around the camp. In fact, it's curved inwards...  
Toward the town.

The river alone covers two sides. It would be a long and difficult project, but I guess they could build a trench that could not be crossed over easily to block off the rest. The two bridges over the river could be access points.  
Double crap. They're penning the infected in for slaughter, me included. And then they'll take the town for themselves.  
Not a bad idea, but I'd rather not get a bullet in the face.

Speaking of taking a bullet in the face, I can see snipers. Run!

A bullet buries itself in the billboard next my head as I dart to the side. Not bothering with the ladder, I use my arms to compensate for only having one leg I can land on.  
I run for the cover of buildings as fast as I can, only stopping several blocks down when I start to tire.  
I sit down on the hood of a car and take a moment to catch my breath.

Cutter, A pale, blue-jacketed Hunter lands on the roof of the car. "Scratcher, found another Witch for ya," It said in the language of the Infected. Scratcher is the name the Specials give me, after a stupid bet resulted in me being dangled from a tree by a Smoker while a Witch gave me a series of slashes across my back. Apparently, we looked like a cat with a scratching post.  
Their hatred of normals and terrible pre-infection memory leads to them taking on a name of their choice. I was perfectly fine with my old name, but I let them have their way because they think I'm weird as it is; having not hunted many normals and apparently seem to be unique in some way. They might have figured out I'm the first Hunter somehow (One young Hunter claimed he could see something different about me, but wasn't sure exactly what it was), and probably think I'm the wise elder or some rubbish like that. Well, perhaps not a leader, or wise, but you get the point.  
At least they're capable of having a somewhat intelligent conversation. Commons will just stare and occasionally try to bite something. I hate commons.  
"Ugh, don't remind me. You owe me big-time for that, by the way," I say.  
"Hmm. What was the bet again?"  
"I dump a bucket of water on a Witch. Loser gives the winner a new hoodie and roll of tape. I think the flirting with a Spitter thing was a joke,"  
"Right," he nodded, then leapt away. I shook my head. He was probably about to do something stupid. I got off the car and continued walking.

Right now, I'm troubled. I don't like the idea of normals coming in with their guns and shooting me. And from what I've seen, I don't think I'll be able to simply stroll out of here.

I suppose that River City is no longer the safe haven I thought it was.

Gunfire interrupts my thoughts. I look up with a start to see three normals storming down the street. One of then carries a shotgun, while the other two have assault rifles. They are cutting a path through the Infected, but their gunfire will surely attract more. I use a nearby fire escape to get to higher ground, hoping they stay focused on the ground level.  
The shotgun-wielder uses the stock to smash open the glass doors of a small supermarket, and they head inside. So it's food they're after. I can already hear the angry commons arriving, and the gurgling of a Boomer.  
I sigh. Idiots. I unclip the pipebomb from my belt and look for the switch that activates the light and noise. I have no way to light the fuse, but that doesn't matter. The noise will distract the commons well enough.  
I leave the blinking lights and screeching commons behind me and walk back towards the inner town.

The layout of River City is something I've become familliar with. The river that gave this town it's name surrounds about half to to-thirds the east side. Most infected can't swim, so that side of town has two access points, the bridges. The other side of the river has a small industrial sector that is technically a part of the town, even with a subway tunnel apparently goes underneath the river to that area.

Now, the east side is primarily the location of businesses and the like. Many two or three story offices, the mall and stores dot this area, with a scattered handful of skyscrapers, such as offices, a large hotel chain and the hospital.  
Further to the west, smaller stores and housing are found. This area would have been very nice pre-outbreak, with it's parks, and more open layout.  
The center of the city is the sweet spot for Hunters. A diverse urban jungle, with winding streets that would have sported an interesting culture, and the flat, open rooftops of varying heights are a blast to leap, hunt and goof around on.  
Needless to say, this is where I live. While city may be a bit of an exaggeration, I'd say that ten or maybe even five more years, and it may indeed have become one.

The saferoom I found earlier lies in the westernmost part of this central area, while my home was in the mid-east, near where the hospital marks the beginning of the more built up district.  
Right now, the prospect of a safe room is a good one. Maybe I'll stay there for a while. I'll have food, water, and can probably find a pair of pants that aren't bloodstained.

It's only mid-afternoon, but already I'm starting to feel sleepy. Time to call it a day.

I make my way back to that saferoom and change into a pair of jeans and green hood. After barricading the door, I find a sleeping bag that looks comfortable and try to sleep.


	4. Down the Rabbit Hole

A/N: Hello again internet strangers. I'd like to give a shout-out to A Friendly Hunter 2, who gave me a lot of help when I was stuck on what to write. This chapter's drain scene is largely his idea, I just put it on metaphorical paper and filled in the blanks. So thanks for that, man.

The next chapter shouldn't be too long, as I have that one already 90% drafted for a while, due to it being important and stuff. Am I the only one that thinks Witches can be adorable and sympathize with them? So cute, their little growls and stuff. I just want to hug 'em. Creepers, too.

I'm a weird guy sometimes.

While not many of you people have reviewed or commented etc, I see through traffic stats that you are reading, and it's a nice feeling, that people are (presumably) enjoying my work. 300 views is not bad for an amateur new to all this, methinks. If you want to know anything/have a question, PM me and I'll answer ASAP. And hearing that someone likes my work really brightens my day. So thanks to all of you who, silent or vocal, that read Safe Haven. Again, a review is quick and goes a long way, so if you have a moment, it's appreciated. (Although if you don't want to, that's fine, I guess)

I have been thinking a lot about the future of Scratcher, and the soon-to-be-introduced mystery character*, and have not only fleshed him out in my head a bit more, but have gotten some ideas for post-Safe Haven adventures (and bad things that will happen to him and said Mystery OC) that were previously only vague "yeah, maybe this'll happen,". I'm open to suggestions, though.

*Not actually a mystery if you read AFH2's Infection Kills 2, set two years after SH and featuring the two main characters. THE FUTURE IS HERE.

Oh, just realized I keep forgetting to add this. It should be obvious, but I don't (and probability states I never will) own Left 4 Dead, or any of it's characters etc, please don't kill me (cause then I wouldn't be able to buy Left 4 Dead 3 if when (one day…) it comes out).

But I believe Scratcher and Abigail are my intellectual property/covered by copyright.

(AFH has permission to use them in his Infection Kills series. Anyone else want to borrow 'em for a bit, PM me)

Also, in today's flashback; We learn about 20 year old Matt/Scratcher's friends (I might do something with them one day) and work ethic (the previous one being set about age 15 or so? For reference, he's aged 26 in this story. Same friends mentioned in the previous chapter's flashback)

2,125 words not inc. this A/N.

* * *

_Matt is at his computer, IM open, and has a series of printed workbooks in front of him. He alternates between typing responses and studying the finer points of calibration. A Thermos flask full of coffee sits on the desk next to his papers, along with the remains of a salami sandwich._

_Red: Ah, come on. When's the last time you went out and had some fun?_

_MattD: Last Monday. You, me and Joker went to see that dragon movie, remember?_

_DannyB01: Wait, why wasn't I invited?_

_MattJ: We thought you were dead._

_MattJ: jk. You didn't show up. You were too busy with that bitch Stacey_

_DannyB01: Stacey is not a bitch!_

_Red: That wasn't very nice, J_

_MattD: Yeah, not cool bro_

_MattD; But you're right, she's a bitch._

_Red: Matt!_

_MattD: She cheated on him_

_MattJ: then tried to cheat on him with me_

_MattD: ^stalked J-man for a bit when he turned her down_

_MattJ: This is getting confusing. Hold on a sec._

_[System]: __**MattJ**_ _changed his profile name to __**Joker**_

_Red: Enough. As I was saying, Matt, why can't you hang with us for a weekend?_

_MattD: I got a lot of work to do. If it ain't done this week, I have to wait a month and re-do a bunch of things. I got a job interview in three weeks._

_Joker: but it's Whispering Oaks, man!_

_MattD: If I finish this stuff by tonight, I'll go with you. If not, bring me back some of that twice-fried chicken._

_DannyB01: If there's any left. I plan on clearing the place out!_

_Red: What my idiot brother means to say, is we'll save some chicken for you._

_Joker: Still scared of clowns?_

_MattD: No!_

_DannyB01: lol, you sure?_

_Matt shook his head in exasperation, and made a few quick notes._

_MattD: Look, guys, I know we've been planning it for a while. But I got stuff to do. Sorry._

_Joker: You can share a room with Red. Just don't keep us up too late…_

_Joker: If you know what I mean._

_Red: J, that never happened, ok?_

_Dannyb01: Dude, that's my sister you're talking about. I think I'm supposed to beat you up or something._

_Joker: Hey, I think we were all thinking it_

_[System]: __**Red**_ _kicked __**Joker**_ _from chat_

_Red: Why are we friends with him again?_

_[System]: __**Joker**_ _has joined chat_

_MattD: Joker, I did not sleep with Red. I only let her stay at my place when that dimwit landlord kicked her out._

_Joker: I was kidding. Lighten up, peeps._

_Matt put aside the now-completed assessment and picked up the next. To his surprise, this large workbook, about half of his remaining workload, was already filled in. Of course, his practical book. This was just a copy. He laughed quietly to himself._

_MattD: My pile of papers just about halved. Looks like I can make it after all, if I stop by the campus to drop it off in the morning._

_Red: Cool. Should we pick you up at nine?_

* * *

Should any normal take a look into the saferoom now, they would be in for a sight. A Hunter sipping coffee, doing a crossword, and listening to the rain on the roof. Sadly, a kettle and instant coffee granules isn't exactly café quality, but after so long, I'd take it cold, stale and filtered with zombie guts!

I slept soundly once I injected myself with a little bit of morphine. Upon waking, I rifled through a cupboard till I found tinned fruit salad and the coffee. By my usual standard of living, a treat. The crossword puzzle book was one of a pile of assorted magazines.

I try to subsist on real food as much as possible. While most Hunters are fine with indiscriminately tearing into commons and survivors, I can't bring myself to eat another human with such easy access to just about anything else.

That, and prion diseases. Those will screw you up.

The map in front of me has several points of interest marked on it.

My first idea is to check out a massive storm drain in the eastern district. If I could reach the bottom via a ladder or something, it should lead me through to the water treatment plant on the other side of the river. The subway is another possibility, but if I were one of the normals, I'd try to block it off so Specials couldn't use it as a way in. The water treatment plant is a less obvious choice, and so less likely to have unwanted visitors.

I take my backpack, loaded with some lunch, my meds, a flashlight (in a waterproof container), rope, and a few other bits and pieces. With the rain pouring down, I'm glad I have a hood to keep it out of my face for a little while. My shoes are already starting to fill with water, which is annoying.

The trek is uneventful, except for a tangle with a Jockey that thought it would be funny to ride me. I told him I thought it would be funny to disembowel him, and he quickly changed his mind.

The drain is essentially a large concrete pit with a ladder, and a tunnel at the bottom that carries the water away. A chain-link fence surrounds the thing, and the concrete around it slopes inwards. The chain that holds the fence's gate closed is old and rusted, so breaking it is easy. I carefully move over to the edge. In retrospect, approaching it during rain, with the sounds of an angry Tank and gunfire in the distance, was a bad idea.

Down the pit, I can see various pipes, maintenance platforms, and a ladder leading down to the bottom of the pit. This is where I need to be, but with the rain it, may not be a good idea just yet.

I am about to back away when the gunfire becomes abruptly louder. I can see three survivors, and the Tank chasing them is not happy. One of them notices me, and yells to his friends.

"There's another goddamn Hunter! Over by the drain!" he says, pumping his shotgun.

I take a step back and try to raise my hands as they point their guns at me, but disaster strikes.

By foot comes down on a rusty can, likely brought this way by the water, and I trip over. I land on my stomach, and realize I'm slipping down the slope. I can see the Tank, and he's noticed me too.

"No! No, no, no!" I yell, scrabbling at the slick concrete, trying to get a hold.

When I slip over the edge, I'm no longer scrabbling at the floor, I'm trying desperately to grab onto anything that might hold me, or at least slow the fall. The sides are slick with rain, and I try not to look down. I'm going to die here.

A roar from above. And suddenly, a pipe!

I latch onto the vertical pipe, scrabbling to dig my claws in with a sound like nails on a blackboard. My fall slows, and then I am able to puncture the thin metal. I clutch tightly, whimpering. A large object falls past me, and lands in the bottom with a splash and a pained roar.

When I have a moment to think, I realize the pipe is rather thin for water. It must be to protect cables or something. Next to it is a thicker, segmented water pipe, which I carefully transfer myself too and begin to shimmy down, using the segments like a ladder.

By this point, I am nearly 3/4 of the way down, and am approaching the floodgate that opens to the reservoir, which itself then leads through a tunnel to the water treatment plant. When the pipe I'm going down turns to the left, I decide to risk jumping to the platform I need.

This place is intended to be navigable by maintenance crew, and so the floodgate has a metal platform for them to get through. I jump normally (not attempting a Hunter pounce) and manage to land safely in front of the open gate.

Wait a minute. The falling object roared in pain?

The hulking beast is watching me from the water at the bottom.

"Heh, lovely day, isn't it. Nice Tank…" I say, and then bolt through the gate. The Tank roars again and begins to give chase.

This room, the reservoir, is essentially a big concrete box with pillars. Most of the pillars have long-dead lights, small metal platforms and ladders to get on and perform some sort of maintenance, or maybe were used during construction.

I begin to run. The Tank smashes one of the pillars with a series of blows, reducing a large portion of it to rubble. As I'm climbing a ladder to get away from his punches, I look back to see the Tank is holding a piece of concrete he smashed off. Not bad.

I hook my leg into the ladder and let go as he throws the slab. This makes me swing upside down, and the concrete sails over me. I quickly pull myself back upright and scramble up the ladder. I run along the walkways, ignoring the screaming pain in my leg. Where necessary, I jump a gap.

Behind me, the Tank is smashing the pillars as I try to cross. If I don't hurry, I won't make it. As adrenaline kicks in, the leg stops being as much of a problem.

By the time I've reached the end of the room, the Tank is out of sight for the moment, pointlessly beating at a pillar. I climb down to the ground and run into the tunnel before it spots me again.

In here, I turn on my flashlight and take a look around. The tunnel curves off to the right, and after that I'm able to follow a straight section for a hundred or so meters before I walk into something solid, having been studying a hatch in the wall as I walked instead of looking forwards.

A metal grate is blocking the way. Likely it's there so that if something large is swept into the drain, it won't get stuck later down the line. I sigh. There goes that plan.

But the hatch, upon looking closer, says "Emergency Access: Subway Line 01" with a small map showing how to get to the subway entrance nearby. Tired and bruised, I decide I've had enough of being underground. I'll check out the subway another day. Also, I'm not even sure which one leads out of this town, so I'll have to look into that too before I try using it as an escape route.

I follow the subway tunnel for what feels like hours before I finally arrive at a station. My clothing has dried off by now, so I'm not cold anymore. Pushing past the turnstiles, I collect a brochure detailing the subway stops. According to the leaflet, the subway line leading from the town to the industrial district is line 03, the shortest route being from the Third Street station. I pocket it with a relieved smile. I may just have a way out of here yet.

Walking amongst the commons, I explore the surrounding area for a while.

One place that catches my eye is a sporting and hunting goods store. I decide to take a quick look inside, and an pleased to find the door open.

Faded displays and smashed glass decorate the interior. Everything from golf clubs to hunting rifles line the walls and shelves. I walk through the aisles, checking out guns, bows, camping gear, and even fishing lures for no particular reason. Eventually I break into a storeroom out the back and settle on a sweet-looking and compact crossbow, complete with quiver. Guns draw commons like moths to a candle. The crossbow is silent, plus ammo can be recovered and reused. Having a weapon other than my claws -and a ranged one at that- is a reassuring thought.

The crossbow comes with a manual, which I leaf through, and then decide to test out my new acquisition.

Outside, a common is spouting gibberish in the language of the infected "KillKILLdiekillhumansDIEriptearsquish!SQUISH!bite!" he screeched.

I perform the pre-use checks, raise the bow and pull the trigger. With a kick, the bow sends it's arrow into the common's face, crashing through the skull and shredding some vital parts of the brain. I walk over, carefully remove the quarrel and wipe it off on the common's shirt, then replace it in the crossbow and practice pulling back the string.

I have a weapon and a plan.

Not bad for a day's work.


	5. Abigail

A/N: This was quick, because already written. Whee. It's in past tense instead of my usual attempt to make this present tense, but otherwise should be good.

My BS excuse for waiting to post it was going to be that I have done nothing but teleport bread for three days.

The truth is while I did want a day to tweak it, I also decided to give you all some time to read the last chapter and wonder what happens next, But AFH is to thank for it coming out fast, since he suggested just putting it up when it was ready.

It was ready.

Since this is already way larger than I thought it would be (2,593 words), no flashback today. Although if somebody pesters me about it, I'll probably add one.

* * *

Day Three:

Another night passes. I'm not sleeping very well without some form of painkiller, and when I woke up it was nearly ten in the morning.

Breakfast was uninteresting, and the novelty of coffee has worn off fast. Doesn't stop me from drinking it, though.

I make an attempt to tidy up my messy, and unwashed black hair, with little success. At least it stopped growing after I turned, because cutting it would be difficult. Not sure if my perpetual 5 o'clock shadow is a good or bad thing. Personally, I like it.

Green hoodie, jeans, and some tape to blend in with the Hunters. I have a pair of old white sneakers to cover my feet, and some black fingerless gloves.

I close the safehouse door behind me. I've got all my possessions in my small backpack, and am prepared to be walking for a while. I'd like to put some distance between myself and this place before the day is out.

I take one last look at the safehouse that sheltered me for these last two nights, then start walking.

There it is, the subway entrance. Really just stairs and a sign, but it was a relief to see. Spent casings were scattered about, almost like a trail of breadcrumbs, leading into the subway. I followed them, being careful to move quietly.

It was dark, but my flashlight allowed me to see. When I looked down the tunnel to see a solitary figure with a large flashlight affixing something to the wall, I quickly shut off my light.

I could faintly hear sobs. They sounded like a Witch, but... I couldn't quite say why, but it sounded different from any Witches I've heard. More emotional?

Next to me was a pile of corpses that told a grim story. Three beaten and broken normals, alongside several infected (including a Hunter, teeth bloodied and on it's back) riddled with bullet holes.

Four guns lay on the ground, one for each corpse, and another near the Hunter.

It seems a group of four were attacked. Three died there, but the fourth made it out alive, leaving their gun behind. The Hunter had been shot in the side of the head, so it wasn't pushed backward by the force of the bullet hitting it in the face. It's teeth and claws bloody, it had attacked. A Witch nearby, and the memories must be fresh in her mind.

Maybe the Hunter had jumped the fourth member while commons attacked the other three. They had killed the commons, but taken fatal wounds. One of them had shot the Hunter before it caused fatal wounds, but it's victim was infected with the mutation virus, blacked out. Hence the Witch, who pushed the dead Hunter off after turning.

I followed the sound of sobbing to find a small store in the station. "Derek's Sweets" a sign proudly proclaimed. Carefully pushing the door open, I took a look inside.

A Witch was sitting on the floor, with various candy wrappers scattered around her.

This seemed odd, but thinking back to a few months after I escaped the CEDA lab, I understood why. I passed through an abandoned sugar mill at one point, and it had been home to many Witches. They must be drawn to sweet things. I chose some candy from a nearby shelf at random, a pack of fizzy mints (sugar-free!), a lollipop and a pack of gummy worms; then slid them across the floor towards her. She snatched them up, sniffed them then dropped the mints in favour of the lollipop. Likely they wanted sugar, then. As she chewed on a worm, I slowly approached her. She whipped her head up, but turned away when she saw I was infected. Just another Hunter.

"I'm a monster," she sobbed, her head buried in her hands.

Unsure of why I wasn't leaving before she decided to tear my head off, I reached out and gently put a hand on her shoulder. She growled at me and turned her head slightly in my direction.

"You're not a monster," I said, in awkwardly pronounced english. I have not needed to speak it for a long time, and I'm not sure if she would be able to understand the Infected language yet. Like most Witches, her hair had lost it's colour and she had long claws (surprisingly not bloodstained). She was skinny, likely due to lack of food, and short. Her face had soft features, almond-shaped green eyes and full lips.

The Witch wore a green jacket with a black shirt underneath, and denim jeans.

She stopped growling and looked at me, surprised to find a Hunter capable of talking, and being nice to her.

"What do you want?" she demanded, staring with her watery, glowing eyes.

"Nothing, I... I'm not sure. I thought I might be able to cheer you up," I said. My voice was coarse and a little bit raspy. "Witches are smarter than the commons, and so am I,"

"You're a monster too," she snapped. "Look at yourself! A Hunter!"

"I don't act like a Hunter, except for the jumping thing. I don't think like one either, and I avoid fights. We don't have to be bad,"

She seemed to calm down a bit. I passed her a chocolate bar from a shelf, which she accepted with a grateful look and began to chow down. "Thanks. I -sniff- feel a bit better now. But I'm so sad... cold...lonely..." She began to weep again, but I wrapped my arms around her, hoping she would find it comforting. That's what people did, right?

"Its alright. You're ok. You'll be fine," I tried to speak in a soothing tone.

"Dead! Marcy, Dave, Dad!"

After a few more minutes of this, she had calmed down, and ate some more. When I questioned her on the sweets, she replied with "Smells good. Could smell it from the tracks. Makes me... less sad. Dark room,"

I sniffed. I could smell a faint sweetness inside the store, but this Witch could smell it from the tracks!

"Do you only eat this stuff?"

"Don't think so. Only been like this for a few days, not sure. What do you eat?" she asked.

"Anything. Plants taste weird, but are eatable,"

"Then I probably can," The Witch took a few deep breaths and then turned to be properly facing me.

"I think I've calmed down. I feel... Better, maybe?"

"I'm glad you're better, but humans are here. We need to go. We can follow the tunnel to a safe place," I promised. The Witch nodded and stood up, then followed me out of the store.

"Abigail," she said.

"What?"

"Name. I think. Don't remember much. What is yours?"

This made me stop. What was my name?

"I can't remember. The other Infected call me Scratcher," I said.

"Oh. Not a nice name. Can I call you Hunter?"

"No,"

"Hmm... Spike?"

"No,"

"Fluffy?"

"Not funny,"

"Sure it is, Fluffy!" Abigail laughed, a lovely sound.

A Witch laughing. What next, a docile Tank? A tolerable Spitter?

"Anyway, we'd better get going. Follow me,"

I stepped out into the station. The normal was distracted with a device of some sort.

We began to walk down the tunnel. This was it. I would be out of River City before the normals reclaim it. And I managed to save another, too.

Ahead of us, bricks of a white stuff with small red lights were placed along the walls of the tunnel. I stopped. Something was nagging at me, some buried memory...

"I can hear a normal," Abigail said. I strained my ears but couldn't hear a thing. Abigail's senses must be in overdrive.

"Yes, boss. I set them up, just like you said. Yes, the lights were on," she mimicked. "Jeez, I got it! Anyway, I'm ready, C4 armed, boom-boom time, whatever. Just give me the signal," she copied.

C-4? But isn't that-

Oh, hell. Explosives. We needed to get as far away as possible, and running to freedom would mean running towards the bombs.

"Abigail, run back towards the station! Explosives!"

Apparently, she got the message, and we ran. She was faster, but I leapt to keep up, ignoring the pain which had lessened over the past two days and is currently dulled further by pills.

I heard a voice up ahead. "Fire in the hole! Damn, I've always wanted to say that!"

The explosives detonated, and while the fireball did not hit us, the blast sent a shockwave through tunnel, knocking us to the ground.

Abigail had glanced behind her, and the assault of light and sound was too much for her sensitive eyes and ears.

She got up, claws ready, and sprinted towards the normal with an enraged scream.

"There's a Witch down here!" the normal yelled into his radio. "Oh, God, she's going to tear my head off!"

"Hide, you idiot!" I was close enough to hear the reply. But it was too late.

Abigail dug into him with her claws and tore his upper torso open, removing several ribs. The normal screamed in pain, Abigail screamed in fury, and the claws swung back and forth, dark blood flying and spattering on and around Abigail. Almost immediately, the screams stopped. Abigail withdrew her now red claws, and stepped back from the corpse. She stared at it for a moment, then turned to me. "I... It was too bright, too loud. I lost control," she said, voice shaky.

"It's... He'd have killed us anyway. We'll get you cleaned up, find some new clothes," I said. Hers were now bloodstained instead of only torn up.

Whoever built the mall had been smart enough to put it near to a subway exit. With the sun high in the sky, Abigail was blinded, covering her eyes with her hands while I guided her in the direction we were going. It only took us a few minutes of walking to reach the shopping centre.

The inside of the building was dark and gloomy. The light that did come in from the glass doors and skylights cast eerie shadows onto cream walls and grey floors. Before the outbreak, this place would have been abuzz with activity, full of light and life.

But now, dead and abandoned, it was a dishevelled shell of its former self. With this happy thought, I turned on my flashlight to look into the stores. Abigail claimed she could see clearly without one. The Witches were starting to make a lot more sense now. If this was ordinary visibility, no wonder a flashlight in the face made them so upset.

We walked past several stores before we found one with clothing. Abigail started sifting through racks, while I waited in the doorway, watching for threats.

"Hmm. Green or red?" Abigail held up two bundles of cloth that appeared to be shirts although her claws partially hid them, one a mild red and the other deep green. Realizing this, she spread them out on the ground. Sleeveless shirts.

"These claws will make sleeves difficult," she explained.

"You're going to wear more than that, right?"

"Of course! I don't care what Witches do, I'm not going to be half-naked,"

"Most Witches don't seem to care if they accidentally tear half their clothes off with those claws. But that might be because they're too busy crying,"

"Just answer red or green," she said impatiently. "Blue," was my sarcastic response. "Hmm. Hey, that's not bad. This one is..."

She reached up and hooked a coat hanger with a blue version of the shirts, and then took her bloodied garments off, leaving her in her underwear and bra.

What got my attention was not the fact that she was a half-naked woman (however I did not fail to notice this either), but her too-lean abdomen, and the easily visible outline of her ribs. She must be starving, literally.

"You need to eat something. Real food, not candy,"

She managed to get the shirt on without tearing anything, and then responded to my comment. "Food would be good. I haven't eaten... Days, at least,"

"I can find you some. But get some pants first, we should stick together with all these normals around,"

Once Abigail found some demin jeans (and then stubbornly insisted upon wearing a leather jacket, which I then had to help get her claws through the sleeves without shredding them) we ditched the clothes store and continued to search the shopping centre.

I took this as an opportunity to restock on some things I needed.

Butane cans for the gas cooker, matches to light it, a new can opener, and some food.

Abigail was looking over the shelves, occasionally picking something up and studying it, trying to make sense of her fleeting memories.

At one point, she pried open a jar of strawberry jam and poured some into her mouth. I picked up a box of disinfectant wipes, and walked over to her.

"Don't eat or drink too much at once or you'll sick it all back up. There's plenty of food, and I know you're hungry, but you need to take it slow for a while until your body gets used to regular feeding,"

She nodded, then looked at the wipes questioningly. "For cleaning your claws," I explained. She thanked me and began to clean off the normal's blood.

"Do you need anything?" I asked her. She took a moment to think about it, then walked off to an aisle filled with soap and other hygiene products. The first thing she did was spray me with deodorant.

"Hey!" I yelped and backed away as she laughed.

"You need to find a shower, Fluffy,"

I grinded my teeth. "There's no electricity," I reminded her. "There's a hydroelectric plant up north which seems to be still running, but a Tank probably destroyed the wrong thing and cut off power to most of the town,"

"Most doesn't mean all,"

"The commons go crazy with all the lights and stuff. They never stop screeching in that area, although it has electricity. I don't know if there's water, but I doubt it,"

Abigail dropped the argument. She gathered a few things (discarding a box of tampons with a look at her claws and a shake of her head) and I put everything into my backpack.

Running through my mental list, I decided I had nearly all that I needed, and my pack was getting heavy.

After a quick visit to the pharmacy (I found various medications, including paracetamol, cough syrup and antibiotics), Abigail and I stopped outside a store that sold exclusively bags. Yeah, I don't get it either, but they exist. I located two spacious backpacks that looked like they could handle some abuse. Taking off my smaller pack, I split the supplies between the two. Unable to jump very well and being forced to leave, I'd prefer to have what I need.

"Is this one mine?" Abigail asked, crouched next to me as I worked, indicating one of the backpacks.

"Yes. The normals are becoming a problem, so we need to get out of this town. Being able to carry more stuff will help,"

Abigail slung on the pack and stood up straight.

"Are we done?"

"Almost. I just want to get a map. The newsagency would have some,"

As we approached that final store, a mighty roar echoed through the centre.

If there is a God, I really need to figure out exactly how I pissed him off enough to put a Tank here.


	6. The Plan

A/N:

TAAANNKK!

Yeah, they're fun filler material/motivation to run away screaming. And as for the Spitter? I don't know. probably don't want to know either.

In case anyone's wondering, Abigail's here to stay, because I like her so much. Judging by how most of my OCs' adventures go, I hope she's got health insurance. And the Witch character tag makes sense now. Why won't FanFiction let us use "OC Hunter, OC Witch," etc in the character thing?

I'm a little bit sick, and with limited internet access, so the next update may be slow. This story is progressing faster than I thought it would. I do have potential sequel ideas in mind, though, and am open to suggestions.

Leon is a RL friend's OC who gets a cameo. Cause not all humans are murderous hive-mind things.

* * *

I pull Abigail in to the nearest store and we duck behind the counter.

My new crossbow is going to be useful, hopefully. I take it out and pull back the string, slotting in a bolt after.

I peek over the counter to see the Tank is not alone. For some reason, this Tank has a Spitter following him. Odd.

When she sees me, she spits her acid over at us.

"Shit, run!" I bolt away in time to avoid the acid. Once clear I take a deep breath, line the sights up with her head, and pull back the trigger.

Her neck suddenly sprouts a new hole, and she falls over, acid flowing out of her throat and corroding her flesh to make it wider. The Tank looks over at his dead friend and bellows at me as her stomach is corroded through from the outside and her vile goo flows out, forming a puddle of acid and flesh. I bring the crossbow down to hook my foot in the stirrup and pull the string back, then slide in another bolt. I had twelve, and now one is in a puddle of Spitter soup.

"Abigail. If I distract it, can you go around and attack it from behind?"

"Yeah, I think so. Any place in mind?"

Good question.

"Try slashing through his arm muscles. Make his arms useless, then break the neck," I say.

She nods, then begins to make a loop away from the towards the Tank. It notices her, but I raise the crossbow again, aim for the Tank's meaty chest and fire.

It roars in pain and forgets about the scrawny little Witch, instead focusing on the pain-spitting Hunter that dares to hurt it. I put the crossbow down and prepare to find another way to fight.

I grab a can of soft drink and throw it at the Tank. It bounces off of his head, making him madder. At this point my new companion is behind him, waiting for a chance. I give her the signal - my fiercest Hunter scream - and flash my claws threateningly at the Tank. She jumps onto it's back, and uses the head as a handhold. One hand goes down to it's left arm and the claws slide into the flesh. The Tank bellows and tries to knock her off, but she ducks, and pulls her claws out with a good chunk of flesh. With the hole already opened, she digs in to the wound she's created and begins tearing out the muscle while I dart around in front of the beast, keeping it's attention on me and annoying it with low-velocity snacks.

After maybe 30 seconds, Abigail has cut down to the tendon and severs it. Miraculously, she hasn't got a drop of blood on her new clothing, although her claws are another matter. She then proceeds to go for the other arm, and continues her butchering.

With both sets of biceps in ribbons and severed, the Tank cannot move it's arms, and is barely able to stand upright.

She uses both hands to sever the spine and topple it. I use the crossbow to kill it for good.

While the acid puddle corroded the first bolt to the point where it would probably shatter if used, the other two are safely removed from the Tank and cleaned.

"That was… different," Abigail says with a weary smile as she sits down on a nearby chair. I chuckle quietly and sit down opposite her, putting my feet on the low coffee table between us.

"If they wanted a coupon book, they could've just asked," I said as I opened the map, earning a giggle in return.

"Are we done here?"

"Almost. I need some time to think,"

She gets up, and positions herself so she can peer over my shoulder.

"There's a group of survivors, a large group, over here somewhere," I point to where I think the encampment was. "From what I've seen, they are digging around here to stop Infected from getting in or out,"

"I know," She said. "I think I was one of them. We were scouting the subway to see if we could barricade it, or collapse it with bombs. My dad, and my boyfriend," she said. "Plus another girl who was forced into going with us. I only knew her a little bit,"

"They died,"

"Yeah. Too many commons at once. A Hunter got me, and I was knocked out… I think. My memory is kinda fuzzy. I woke up as _this,"_ she said it contemptuously, but I noticed that she seemed to be rather at ease with her new form fighting that Tank. She's gotten used to those claws fast. "And the Hunter was dead," She sounded quite melancholy, likely due to recalling the deaths. "The plan was to clean this place out. Make traps, like those pipe-bombs people make with the flashing lights and the beeping? Those, but brighter, louder. I think they wanted to make them firetraps, with diesel or petrol. Hunt the rest of the Infected. That kind of thing,"

"Thorough. Well, I've tried going down the storm drains, and found you in a subway. We can't just walk out. Are the bridges guarded?" I asked.

"Yeah... Why can't we talk to them? They might recognize me,"

"No. They shoot infected on sight, they won't give you any time to speak. And they'd never trust us anyway,"

She looked like she wanted to argue further for a moment, but dropped it.

"What are we going to do now?" she asked.

"I have no idea. I'd like to take a look around to see if we can find a sewer or something. That was kind of a last resort,"

"A sewer? Really?" Abigail was not impressed.

"I'm trying to find a better idea," I say, then get up. "Come on."

Before we go Abigail has an idea.

"There's a gas station near the bridges, see?" she points at the map with a claw. "We could steal a car or something, and drive right past the people on the bridge,"

"Assuming we can start one,"

"Maybe someone left the keys in the ignition when they stopped for gas. It's better than the sewers."

I have to reluctantly agree, sewers are not a fun prospect.

"Is it too bright?" I ask. Abigail nods, almost completely covering her eyes from the outside sun.

"I can handle it if I shade my eyes,"

I lead her to the gas station she told me about. By the time we arrive the sun is going down, and Abigail can see again. After taking whatever sweet things we could find that hadn't spoiled yet, Abigail spotted something that had her jumping with excitement.

"A motorbike! I haven't ridden one of these for ages!" She ran outside and grabbed the helmet. After inspecting it gave it for damage and decay, she put it on my head and took a smaller one from another motorcycle for herself.

"You want to check out that bridge in style?" she said.

"Hell no, I'm not getting on this thing. We could fall over and srew my legs up even further!"

"Hell yes!" she says. The keys were still in the ignition. I guess the owner ran when the Infected attacked. The engine started without any trouble.

I sat behind her on the motorcycle and put my arms around her waist so I wouldn't fall off.

"Woohoo! This is great!" she yelled over the wind.

"Nice to know one of us is enjoying this!" I shout back, clinging for dear life. I'm terrified I'll fall off or we'll crash or-

_Stop thinking about it!_ I mentally yell at myself. I stop focusing on the accidents and instead try to keep Abigail's hair out of my face.

Whenever we pass a common, they try to give chase, but quickly fall behind. Even a Charger has trouble keeping up after we turn a sharp corner.

It only takes a few minutes to reach the first bridge. Upon arrival, it quickly becomes obvious that we're not going to be able to make it this way.

The barricade and belt-fed machine gun gave a clear message: you shall not pass.

We quickly rode away before the normals overcame the shock of seeing a Witch and a Hunter riding a motorcycle.

The second bridge was a similar story, but this time they reacted faster, thus we raced away with chain-gun fire hot on our heels.

"The bridges are a bust. Any other ideas?" I ask her once we're clear of the guns.

"Nope," was her response, followed by a yawn.

"Then let's bring this thing back and find a place to sleep," I say. She nods, and brings the motorcycle around.

As we approach the gas station, it quickly becomes apparent we're not the only visitors. Commons run past, screeching. Another Hunter sends an angry growl my way, but I ignore it. I hear a shotgun fire inside. A survivor is trapped inside. In my head I'm debating if it's worth helping. With another annoyed sigh I get off the godforsaken bike and run towards the door.

To my conscience;

Please stop trying to get me killed.

Yours sincerely,

Scratcher

Three commons are clawing at the door, but I break the neck of one while Abigail deals with the other two. A Hunter's attack scream echoes through the building, and I turn the unlocked doorknob.

The Hunter crashed through the glass window and collided with a shelf. A survivor in a leather jacket was beating a downed common to death with the stock of his shotgun. I intervene by attacking the remaining commons, while Abigail quickly restrains the Hunter and then breaks it's neck.

When the survivor raises his shotgun, eyes darting between the Witch and Hunter in front of him, I put my hands up. "Don't shoot, we helped you," I say, and he backs away.

"Shit! You just talked!"

"No, I'm humming ABBA," I deadpanned.

"Funny. Uh, why aren't you two trying to kill me?"

"Attacking a guy with a gun is not the best tactic for staying alive,"

The survivor looked quite shaken. He wasn't expecting any of this.

"We're not feral. I calmed her down enough to think rationally," I point to Abigail. He looks at her, and his jaw drops.

"You're Harvey's girl, aren't you? Shit... Abigail, right? We haven't heard from either of you for weeks,"

"He's dead," she said sadly. "A horde got him,"

The survivor nodded glumly. "Thought so. He was a good man, and a good friend. He'd have wanted... we're still trying to take this place back from the goddamn zombies. Uh, no offence,"

"None taken," she says.

"Just get out of here while you still can, girl," he continues.

"I've tried the subway and storm drains. The bridges are barricaded. There's no way out," I say.

"The barricades are crap. Just a pile of boxes," he says.

I grin when a plan forms in my mind.

"We could use a truck... If we can find one. And fuel. Then actually start it,"

He shrugged. "I dunno, but gotta go before more zombies get here. I'll tell the boss what happened. Make sure your dad gets a proper burial,"

Abigail's eyes were tearing up, but she managed a smile. "Thanks. We were in the subway when... Take the motorbike out the front, it still works," she said, and covered her eyes from the setting sun.

The survivor, whose name Abigail later told me was Leon, handed her his sunglasses, decapitated a common with his machete, and then left with a nod.

"Well. That was... interesting," I said.

"Yeah. Can we go now?" she said, trembling. I put an arm around her, and she begins to lightly sob.

"Ssh... It's ok. He's in a better place now," I say to her.

I walk her back to the safehouse, and let her have the sleeping roll. She's half-starved, so I figure she needs to stay warm more than I do. I try to get comfortable on a cardboard box. We chat for a little while, before she drifts off to sleep. Not much later, I close my eyes too.


End file.
